


We've bitten our nails to the quick, darling

by tasteofhysteria (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-26
Updated: 2012-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-06 01:24:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/tasteofhysteria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Human AU! After an argument between two best friends over medication that hadn’t been taken that had gotten physical, Søren thinks maybe he is not so brave and not so invulnerable as he believed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Denmark- Søren  
> Norway- Sindre  
> Netherlands- Wilm  
> Christiania- Kai

He wasn’t a coward. Or at least, he hadn’t been a coward. What do you call hiding out in your best friend’s apartment for a few days because you’re not willing to go home and look at the evidence that you’d really fucked up this time?  
  
…Søren guessed it’d be called cowardice.  
  
Fuck.  
  
He’d hardly been what one could call  _awake_  when he shoved a few days’ worth of clothing and other necessities into an old messenger bag and fled without locking the door, with barely the presence of mind to wonder what his family would  _think_ …  
  
But that had been on Friday night.  
  
Now it was Sunday night.  
  
He’d shoved his way into Wilm’s apartment with his stolen spare key (or maybe he jimmied the lock, but it was all sort of a blur) and commandeered the sofa silently.  
It had been allowed to pass for an hour, maybe two as Søren was patched up and dusted off. He’d blatantly rejected a trip to the hospital when Wilm made the suggestion. He’d asked Søren who’d done this to him.  
  
It seemed only honest to say he’d done it to himself.  
  
Wilm didn’t understand.  
  
“If I just taken the damn thing,” Søren said over and over, “If I had just  _taken_  it-”  
  
He said it over and over and he wasn’t crying even though he desperately felt like he should be.  
  
But that had been on Friday night, and now he was embarrassed to have shown such ridiculousness to anyone let alone Wilm, best friend though he might be.  
  
Now it was Sunday night.  
  
He knew the continued silence was probably grating on Wilm, though the Dutchman couldn’t be considered talkative by any stretch of the imagination. His phone hadn’t gone off once, not even with a message from Kai. He wondered if Kai had even come home for the weekend and then realized what a fucking bastard he was for not even knowing where his cousin was.  
  
He knew with sudden startling clarity that everything Sindre had said, all the things he chalked up to being bullshit and retaliated to with his own barbs had been  _right._  
  
And goddamn if that didn’t hurt a little more than the cut above his eye.  
  
He’d fucked up a good thing pretty damn well this time. But that was his fucking luck, always ruining something the tighter he tried to hold onto it because it broke and shattered under his hand. This was as much the same.  
  
Since hindsight felt like being particular bitchy tonight, he could now clearly recall every mistake he’d made.  
  
The afternoon of June 12th when he tripped over that step and sprawled out on the landing, when he’d looked up and saw Sindre after so long and felt his breath catch for the first time in seven years.  
  
July 14th, which felt like a dream of some poor medieval comedy movie, like the one they’d been watching. The heroic knight had fallen asleep in the end to supposedly wake up and have the world be back to normal. But instead he’d woken up and found the dream continuing under the slumbering warmth of the magician ally.  
  
The entire goddamned month of August.  
  
The 14th was spent draped over Sindre’s lap, ironically telling him everything, everything and wanting to do nothing more than turn over and say “Just kidding, I’ve been talking about you the whole time.” No.  
  
The 25th—really more like the night of the 24th. Sindre had stayed over again (just another product of Søren and that grip on things), and that day had fucked over his entire outlook on how the world worked and left him shaking as he sat under a stream of frigid water from the shower head, trying to deny what he had just seen, trying to deny the feeling of holding Sindre like he’d been wanting to.  
  
The 29th when he was still trying to acclimate himself to these new truths, feeling infinitely fragile. And then he’d overheard things he shouldn’t have, how  _things_  stood between Sindre and Berwald now that Tino was gone, and there was really nothing more to be said, was there? He’d lost out. He wasn’t good enough. He’d known it already, so damn if he wasn’t going to celebrate being free by getting wasted out of his fucking mind. Instead he just felt more miserable and he’d been dumped off by some half-blind homeless bastard into the Norwegian’s arms, the last place he wanted to be at the moment. He’d been sighed over and coddled and he wanted to choke on it and die from disgust from how fucking simplistically happy it made him. So he left as soon as he was able.  
  
And it was a million other goddamn things and events and situations.  
  
And he had fucked it up over petty bullshit because—  
  
His thumb brushed over the keypad of his phone, summoning the form that would send a text message to Sindre.  
  
 _‘I’m sorry.’_  
  
 _‘It was mostly my fault.’_  
  
 _‘I depend on you way too fucking much and I just need to leave you alone and get over this before I break you too, but I don’t think I can and I’m not sure I want to but I should. I should_.’  
  
…he was still too angry to be that honest.  
  
So he sent a text message to somebody else instead.  
  
He wanted to hit himself again, because here it was again. Sindre pervading everything in his life, even this phone number. Maybe it was sort of a fitting send-off, using a number Sindre had given him to say goodbye and take care, even if it was sort of ass-backwards way to do it. 

‘Hej Berwald. You got a minute to spare? Wanna have a chat with you.’


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Denmark- Søren  
> Norway- Sindre  
> Netherlands- Wilm  
> Christiania- Kai

He'd left Wilm's apartment a bit later than he'd planned. The Dutchman's  _girlfriend_  had come over and Søren was looking forward to hearing about her older brother's reaction. His bag (stuffed with the random paraphernalia of one who was avoiding home) bounced against his hip as he mounted the stairs to the metro station, just barely catching the last train of the night towards Evergreen Circle, which was just a block from the head of 14th Street. This time of night had the escalators to the exit shut off, so he whistled a simplified version of "Party i provinsen" as he climbed the frozen escalator in the empty tunnel.  
  
"Damn," he swore as the smoke-heated air of the metro tunnel gave way to the frosty chill of mostly deserted streets. Søren jogged down 14th until it intersected with Rhode and stepped into a small, smoky dive, full of patrons whose faces he didn't recognize.  
  
Perfect.  
  
He gave a curt nod to the grizzled bartender behind the counter, hooking his bag on the back of the barstool and hauling himself into it to wait (albeit somewhat reluctantly) for his "companion".  
  
He ordered whatever was on tap as a glass to nurse while he waited, grimacing a bit as the beer burned over his split lip.

Berwald stalked along the street, hands in pockets and shoulders hunched against the wintery breeze. The sharp streetlights left deep shadows on his face, making him look especially eerie. At least one person he met gave him an uncomfortable look, and then changed to the other side of the street quite unsubtly, but Berwald was too distracted with his own thoughts to notice.   
  
Søren had called him to...because he  _needed to talk_  apparently. Berwald wondered if he was stupid, to actually agree to that, but then, what was the worst that could happen? If Søren was looking for a fight, Berwald could handle that. Probably. Even if the thought of being pulled into something like that gave him a cold feeling of apprehension...no, that wouldn't happen. If it looked like Søren had something like that in mind Berwald wouldn't rise to it, he'd just leave.  
  
The point was, he might be no fighter anymore, but that didn't make him a  _coward_. Berwald took a moment to ponder if he was doing this not to have Søren think he was...but of course he wasn't still hung up on such childish worries.

Of course not.  
  
Still, he'd come this far, he might as well see what Søren wanted to speak about. Berwald might not be entirely over all that mess from high school, but at least he had better control than back then. For one, he wasn't afraid to admit who he was. No one could use that as a weapon against him.  
  
Still, it was eerie how actually seeing Søren, perching on a barstool and leaning on the counter, brought back the memories from high school. In retrospect, Berwald could see how he'd, in a way, considered Søren like an older brother. Often insufferable and mystifying, but still...family. That's why it had hurt, to realize perhaps he'd just been just been used all along, for all Søren's tall talk about the three of them being in this (whatever “ _this_ ” was) together. But then, Søren had always had a big mouth, hadn't he?  
  
"Hey," Berwald greeted in clipped fashion, taking a seat alongside the Dane. He called for a drink, but only took a small sip off it. He didn't trust Søren enough to get even a little drunk in his vicinity.

"Hejy," Søren replied in an equally short manner, eyeing the Swede warily. After the past few days, he was in no mood to have only sort of fight with anyone. Hell, he could be mugged the second he walked outside, and he'd probably offer to walk the bastard to the nearest ATM.

 A depressing realization, he thought. Reduced to this. He tsked quietly and shoved the half-full stein away to avoid temptation.  
  
Something about being around Berwald always made him want to grab the nearest alcoholic beverage and exchange the liquid for oxygen.   
  
But now...what to say?  
  
 _'Thanks for coming'_? This wasn't a weird sort of business meeting.  
  
 _'Nice seeing you again'_? Honesty is the best policy, and that certainly wasn't true.  
  
 _'How have you be--'_  Okay, Nielsen. Steady on.  
  
The proper words wouldn't come, so he frowned deeply in thought and tapped the bar in a quiet pattern as he waited for the right thing to say to appear in his head.

Berwald glanced at the Dane from the corner of his eye. He looked...unhappy, as far as he could tell these days. For once, he was even being quiet (a God-given miracle), although Berwald couldn't say this oppressive silence was very welcome either.  
  
"So, what'd ya want?" Berwald asked bluntly, when it got too much for him.

"M'leaving soon," Søren replied curtly, hands curling into fists automatically. "Going back home for a while, and I--"  
  
Shit, this had been a stupid idea. Something about being around Berwald made the words stick in his throat and he was caught between the urge to ruffle the Swede's hair for the disgruntled expression he was sure to receive or punch him in the face.   
  
...that beer stein was starting to look tempting again.  
  
He cleared his throat and tried again.  
  
"M'not asking for me, but...well. You know how Sindre is about taking care of himself. Just asking that...you keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't run himself ragged like he tends to. Just--as a favor. I'd appreciate it."  
  
Søren stared determinedly at the bar and his hands, feeling a pinkish heat suffusing the tips of his ears. Fucking mortifying, this was. Asking  _Berwald_  of all goddamn people for something.  
  
"...s'all I wanted to say."

Berwald gave him a long look, his expression unreadable.

So Søren still cared for Sindre at least. But he supposed it wasn't surprising; after all, they'd been friends long before and after Berwald's first visit to the States...

Berwald felt a stab of something that almost felt like jealousy at that.  
  
He shook his head to dispel the thoughts.  
  
"Sindre's like a brother t' me, an' I take care of m' family," Berwald stated gruffly, his tone almost irritated.  _I don't need to be asked to do it_ , it implied.

"Just making sure." Søren replied in kind, tone clearly dismissive.  
  
 _I'll ask whatever I damn well please,_  it implied.  _Because I wouldn't trust you to do it otherwise._  
  
Berwald was leveling a stare at him, so he slanted a look back. It was sort of strange, Søren mused, how much a person changed in a few years. You come back from your travels and you find the kid you used to call your little brother as a joke now stood over you in height and could probably toss you across the room if he felt inclined.  
  
...it could be fun, maybe. He gave himself a mental shake for being stupidly sentimental at a ridiculous time.  
  
He inclined his head slightly to Berwald, an acknowledgement of what had been said.  
  
"See that you do." Søren said. And then he reached for the neglected stein. 

Berwald could apparently still read things Søren wasn't saying when he wanted them to get across, and there was another stab at that implication, this time of simple hurt. He forced himself not to look away from Søren's eyes though, so as not to show the barb had gotten through.   
  
Instead, Berwald's tone simply gained a new edge of frost as he spoke again.  
  
"If that was all y’had t’say, then I'm going," he snapped, standing up and leaving his mostly untouched beer on the counter as he left.  
  
The air outside had, if anything, grown colder, or maybe it was just the cold, painful lump that seemed to have lodged itself in Berwald's chest.

Damn Søren, _damn_ him.

Berwald stopped suddenly and slammed his fist into the brick wall at his side, the physical pain radiation up through his arm a welcome distraction from the other. He shook his head, disgusted at himself and his weakness.

Hopeless, utterly hopeless.


End file.
